


Timeless

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Love Is Timeless, Romance, butterfly bog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A love as strange as their own will not be denied, no matter what time they find themselves in...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marianne

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a series of prompts on my Tumblr!

**Prompt: I really enjoy the emotional intensity between Bog and Marianne. So I was just wondering what would happen if the Marianne at the end of the movie (the one who just started something with Bog) suddenly woke up the next day on the day of her wedding to Roland (the start of the film).**

* * *

Marianne wakes up. And immediately senses that something is… _strange_.

She’s still in her bedroom, but…everything is  _off,_ somehow. There are a dozen little things that are just simply  _wrong_  – pieces of her clothing missing, her beloved darker hues nowhere to be found in her wardrobe. Her bed is fresher, a different rose. The nick in her doorframe that came from a training session gone awry has vanished.

Speaking of which…her sword is nowhere to be found. She had placed it by her bed after Bog had found it in the rubble of his Castle…

Her hair feels different, longer, her palms no longer sporting the calluses and tiny little scars from the wear and tear of sparring.  _What is…?_

And then she sees it…

That all too familiar white dress, draped over her chair, just as it had been on the day of her…

And she goes numb as she realizes just  _where_  she is.

_Back. Back to her own Fateful Day, that horrible day, married, she’s supposed to get married_  -  

And she can’t stop the horror and panic from flooding her –  _no no no,_ she  _has_  to get back, she  _can’t_  marry Roland, she  _can’t_  – she just found Bog, she  _can’t_  lose him now, can’t lose  _herself_  in time, no matter how this happened –

And then she stops. She still has her memories. Even if she’s somehow come back, even if these hands aren’t scarred with the training of a warrior…they are still  _hers._

She still remembers, and she will be damned if she goes down without a fight.

And then she knows  _exactly_  what to do.

A smile, slow and wicked and unlike any smile her past self would give, curls across her lips as her sister knocks on the door cheerfully, just like Marianne remembers, before fluttering in. “Good morning, bride to be! Lets start getting gorgeous!”

Marianne pulls her into a hug like she did so long ago, but now her words are different. “Dawn, I need you to go get Dad and Roland. Before we do anything else today…I need to make an announcement.”

Dawn tilts her head, utterly bewildered. “ _What?_ It…it can’t wait until after the wedding?”

Marianne shakes her head sharply, and her eyes are gleaming in a way that Dawn has never seen before. “Definitely not.”

* * *

“Aw, ain’t my future Queen just the prettiest little thing? I thought it was bad luck for the groom to see his bride before the wedding, Buttercup!”

The King chuckles but then looks at his first born, confused. “Darling…why aren’t you dressed for the wedding? I thought by now you would be ready.”

Marianne represses the urge to sink her fist into Roland’s gleaming grin, and instead curls her hands into her gown –  _not_  her wedding dress, she couldn’t touch it with giving a shudder of revulsion. And anyways, she feels like she’d be tempting fate if she wears it.  

Besides, she can have her satisfaction in a different, still utterly satisfying way. “Well…that’s the thing.” She looks Roland dead in the eye, and he smiles at her, so blinding and brilliant and handsome and golden, so pleased, so  _certain._

The smile Marianne gives back is not at all forced, just a touch more vicious. “I’m calling the wedding off.”

That golden smile drops like a dead fly, and Marianne has to repress a laugh.  _“WHAT?!”_

Marianne nods calmly. “Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m marrying you.”

Dawn and Dad looked shocked as well, but Roland looks completely panicked. “But – I – Buttercup, darlin’, you  _love_  me –“

“Oh, I did,” Marianne assures him, calm and cool. “But then I realized I deserved  _so_  much better. Someone who wants me for  _me_ , not for the crown or the army he can get through me. Someone who  _loves_  me. You have never,  _ever_  loved me.”   

Dawn’s eyes are huge, darting between her and Roland, and Dad is still gaping, but Roland is nothing if not persistent. “Buttercup, I think this is just a case of pre-wedding jitters. Understandable, but – “

“Andromeda, Lily-Rose, Clarissa, Fawn, Vivian and Melinda,” Marianne says clearly.

Roland face pales in a way that robs him of any handsomeness. “W-what?”

“Andromeda, Lily-Rose, Clarissa, Fawn, Vivian and Melinda,” Marianne repeats. She had learnt all their names – not to seek retribution, but as a punishment. All those girls, all of them, and she had been so blissfully, willfully  _blind_. “Maybe we can ask  _them_  just what a case of pre-wedding jitters I have.” She crosses her arms. “I see it as a return of sanity.”

Roland mouths at her. “How…how did you –“

He stops as soon as he realizes what he’s said, but the damage is done. Dawn is looking at him like he’s the most revolting thing she’s ever seen, and Dad looks like a thundercloud of fatherly rage. Marianne has moment of reflection on how frankly  _nice_  it is to see him on her side instead of Roland’s.

Marianne smiles again – even if she’s stuck in the past, this is  _enormously_  satisfying. “So in case there’s any remaining doubts over why I’ll never marry you, Roland, here are a few more reasons why – you’re a shallow, power-hungry, cheating, chattering, pig-headed son of a grub, and I would be legitimately  _insane_  to let you anywhere near me or my Kingdom.”

With that concluded, Marianne flies to the window. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go do some diplomacy.” She turns to go, but then pauses. “Oh, and Roland?”

He looks relieved. “Aw, Buttercup, I knew you were just foolin’ – “

She looks at him with a serene sort of murder in her eyes. “If you even  _think_  of using a Love Potion on me, I’ll kill you.”

And with that, she’s out the window and soaring to the Dark Forest, her heart positively racing from adrenaline and nerves. That was the easy part. Now comes the hard part.

_Bog._

Bog, not in love with her. Bog, not open to Love in any way. Bog, mired in his bitterness and loneliness. That’s who waits for her, deep in the Forest.  

Marianne sighs, skirting over bright blossoms, her eyes wary.  _This is gonna be tough._

But she’s won his heart before, and that was in the space of a single night. She can do this again.

She  _has_  to.

_Please please please, I’ve just found him. Don’t make me lose him._

She grits her teeth and wishes she had her sword to clasp. But then again, showing up with a sword  _might_  not be the best way to go about her plan.

_I’m coming straight on for you, Bog._

_And I won’t lose you._

* * *

She gets to the Border and settles herself right between the shivery little line that divides Light and Shadow. “Stuff? Thang?”

The primroses haven’t been chopped down yet, but she knows they’re there, scouting the Border for anyone…well, anyone like her. And sure enough…

They peek at her from under the shadows of the leaves, eyes wide and voices muttering. Marianne waves both her hands in the air, empty of any petals. “Princess Marianne of the Fairy Kingdom. I come with peaceful intentions, I swear. No funny business with the primroses.”

Thang scampers closer, fascinated by such an uniquely brave Fairy, but Stuff is sterner, her eyes narrowed cautiously. “How did you know our names? And what kind of  _peaceful_  intentions do you have?”

Marianne smiles. “Diplomacy. And I make it a point to learn the names of the most proficient officials in all the Kingdoms.”

The flattery works. Thang titters and blushes, and Stuff looks at her with considerably more warmth. “How would you have us help you, Princess?”

Marianne stands and takes a steadying breath.  _C’mon, Tough Girl._  “Take me to the Bog King.”

* * *

She knows that he isn’t Bog. Not her Bog, not yet anyway. He’s the King of the Dark Forest, still keeping the Sugar Plum as his captive, still hiding his pain and heartbreak behind snarls and cold ferocity. She knows that.

But as soon as she sees him, it’s like a chain twisting around her heart, she wants to go to him so  _badly._  He looks so miserable, and she aches to comfort him. And his eyes are still that same soul-piercing, striking shade of blue…

_The phosphorescence of his Forest making them glow in the darkness, holding out a claw to her, so gently…_

_A memory that has not yet happened…_

_Bog…_

She is able to keep it together somehow, and tells him her wish. Diplomacy between the two Kingdoms. A balance between Light and Dark.

Unsurprisingly, Bog is having none of it. “Fairies have kept to their world, we have kept to ours,” he snarls, stalking to his throne, turning his back on her. “To upset that order invites chaos –“

“I don’t want chaos, I want change,” Marianne argues, unafraid as she faces his fierce glower. How can she be afraid when she knows the sweet vulnerability that lurks beneath it? “And I know you do too, or else you would have sent me back to the Border by now.”

He glares at her, and she meets his gaze with a glower of her own, even as she desperately wants to touch him, hold him, do anything to let him know he needn’t fear this, fear  _her_ , so much. “I won’t be made a fool, Princess,” he warns in a low, foreboding growl, but with the gasps that Stuff and Thang give, she knows that this is monumental. “If this is some trick –“

“I’m not playing you,” Marianne says with soft sincerity, and she dares to step closer, lets herself drown in his eyes for a bit. “I…I don’t use people like that.”  _I’m not Roland._

He blinks at that, seems thrown by such willing closeness to him, but…his eyes linger at hers.

For that alone, Marianne is willing to risk a smile.

* * *

She’s still here. But that’s not to say that everything is bad.

Roland still tries some pathetic attempts at cajoling her when he can, but having Dawn and Dad united in protecting her against him certainly makes things much easier. It makes Marianne wish that she had been honest with them from the start. Though she still has to be careful not to shock them  _too_  much. 

But it’s around Bog that she truly needs to watch herself.

“Why do you look at me like that?” He demands one evening as they look over their maps, his heavy brow knit in a scowl of confusion.

Marianne starts, not realizing she had been staring. “I’m…like what?”

His scowl deepens, and he waves a claw impatiently. “Unafraid. Soft. Like…like you…”

His voice fades, and he clears his throat, the flush on his cheeks and his neck undeniable even in the shadows of his Castle -  _she’s been exploring when she can, it’s a shame to think such moldering majesty is now a ruin of rubble back in her time_ – and Marianne knows exactly what he’s thinking. This Bog isn’t used to anyone looking at him with such blatant affection.

She winces, a flush now climbing her cheeks, and she soundly scolds herself. So what if it’s Bog? So what if she can’t keep her eyes off of him? So what if his eyes still make her weak? This is…he is…

Here, now, he doesn’t love her.

She loves him, but he doesn’t love her, isn’t open to any kind of Love yet. She has to remember that. She has to be careful.

“I like you,” she says, because Marianne is awful at taking her own advice. “I…I guess that’s why.”

Because if she’s stuck in this time, this time where Bog doesn’t love her, she is determined to win his heart all over again. He’s worth it.  _They’re_  worth it.

Bog looks at her with wide eyes, the blue of them so striking and so painfully incredulous. He looks back down at the maps, his throat working and his eyes darting over them, unsure. “You…you don’t hear of Fairies seeking out the company of Goblins. You are…you’re very… _different_ , Princess.”

She knows he says the title to be polite, a mere formality, but she would give anything to hear him murmur  _Tough Girl_  just once more. She looks down, her heart heavy. “I’ve been told.”

“That’s what I like!”

It’s as eager and sincere as the first time, and once again it’s immediately followed by stuttering and throat-clearing and awkwardness.

And if Marianne’s heart was heavy before, now it feels like it could soar.

* * *

“I thought you were supposed to be married.”

Marianne can’t stop the wince at the innocent observation, and Bog looks immediately stricken. “I’m – I just heard from the mushrooms that you were, and I – I’m sorry, that was -“

“It’s okay,” Marianne assures him. Funny…she’s had her victory over Roland, now has Dawn and Dad’s support in spurning him, and yet…she still carries her heartbreak. “I…I was. But…I chose to call it off. He…he didn’t love me. He didn’t want me, not really.”

“How could anyone not want –“

His voice breaks, and this time his blush burns enough to warm her as she stands by him –  _very close, they’ve been edging closer and closer, intentional on her part, subconscious on his_  – and she has to bite down on her smile as delight and love thrills through her at that.  _At him._

They’re standing together at the Border, and moonlight is all around them, and Marianne is consumed with longing and nostalgia and the familiarity of it all, all for a moment that hasn’t happened and will never happen now.

She’s certain that she’ll never go back to her time now. But as long as she has him…

_Bog, you’re so close._

Instead, she lets her eyes go soft with yearning as she meets his gaze. “I…I got hurt. But I let it make me stronger. At least…I tried to.”

“You succeeded.” He’s moving closer, his eyes moving over her face. “You…had your heart broken?”

She wants to reach out to him so  _badly._  “Let’s just say…I know all about that.”

“…As do I.” His claws twitch, and Marianne knows, with the intensity of lightening, that he feels the same want for her.  _Oh Bog, sweetheart, take my hand…_

He rushes on, voice low and desperate. “There…there’s a reason why I banned Love here, banned the Potion, kept Plum my prisoner, and – you need to know,  _need_  to know  _why_ , if – if there’s any chance that – even though there  _can’t_ be, Marianne, I’m – I’m too hideous to –“

“You’re beautiful,” Marianne whispers, and winds her fingers through his claws. “And even if you were hideous, nothing could stop me from loving you.”

They both freeze at her words and  _oh god, oh hell, dammit dammit dammit._  She’s said too much, she’s given it all away, she’s ruined  _everything_  –

And then Bog’s mouth is on hers, desperate and sweet and soft, rough and wonderful and hard, tasting her, his hands touching her and cradling her to him, holding her tight –

Their kiss is a wild and wonderful thing, burning through her in a glorious wave, and Marianne holds on to him just as fiercely.  _Nothing could stop me from loving you. No matter what time we’re in._

The night swims before her, moonlight and shadow mixing, and maybe it’s the taste and feel of Bog, so long denied, that’s making her so dizzy, but then –

The world tilts –

And she’s falling -  

* * *

When Marianne opens her eyes, her hair is shorter, her scars are back, and her blade leans by her bedside.

And Bog is watching her, so damn tenderly.

She sits up quickly, her head spinning.  _“What -? What happened -?”_

“That blonde wretch tried to use a different Potion on you,” he explains softly, gathering her to him. “Tried to reverse time so that you would forget about me, forget about how he did you wrong. But instead… _you_  were sent back. Your body remained, but…you…you weren’t here…”

Marianne is torn between disquietude at this news and relief that Roland didn’t succeed. “Where is he now?”

“In the dungeons, bound and gagged. His accomplices as well. Your father is significantly less charmed by him now, I would wager. There’s been rumors of banishment.” There’s a pause, and his next words are nervous. “Are…are you alright?”

Marianne nods, slow but certain. “I think so. I…” The enormity of it all hits her like a blow, and she looks at him with wide eyes. _“Have your memories changed?”_       

He shrugs a shoulder, his scales shifting. “It’s…difficult to say. I remember what happened _here_ , but…this past week, I’ve…I’ve occasionally seen some…glimpses?”

Marianne’s heart twists.  _“I’m so sorry –“_

Bog crushes her to him, fierce. “ _No. Ye’ve nothing ta apologize for._  Marianne, after what ye’ve done, what ye did ta get back…”

_Reaching out for diplomacy, waiting so long for him…_

Bog pulls back to look at her, his eyes so damn blue and so damn full of love.  _“Ye fought for me, Tough Girl. Fought for us. An’ ye bludy won.”_

And Marianne can’t hold back the shudder that runs through her when she hears him say that, it feels so  _good_  and she was so convinced that she’d never hear it again.

_Tough Girl, I’m your Tough Girl, no matter what time we’re in._

She’s as close to tears as he is, but instead she smiles as she folds herself closer to him. “I told you,” she whispers, her lips brushing his, her voice faintly ragged. “I can take care of myself. And now…I’m gonna take care of you.”

And no matter what time they’re in, moonlight or sunlight surrounding them, the love in their kiss is timeless.

 

 


	2. Bog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wee bit of a warning, folks - this one is considerably more angsty than the First Part.

**Prompt: Time travel AU. Starting from a little after the movie with Bog realizing he and Marianne are together. He starts to worry what kind of future they can have with each having their own kingdoms and responsibilities and aren't even the same kind of fae. Hoping to calm his concerns Griselda mentions a spell that lets the user glimpse 5 min in the future on the blue moon. But Bog has no patience in waiting and casts the spell wrong. He wakes up in the past a week before Marianne's wedding to Roland.**

* * *

He wakes up in his bed. 

His bed that is supposed to still be lost to the ruin of his Castle.

Some part of him desperately clings to the idea that he  _didn’t_  make a mistake, that this whole spell  _wasn’t_  another magical folly, that this bed is merely the bed he will have in the future,  _their_ bed, the one that he and Marianne will share…

But everything is…

Everything is just how he remembers it, only… _different_. The walls of his fortress aren’t as cracked and brittle…

He  _feels_  younger, and…the scars she has given him are missing, the small testaments to their sparring, the first of his scars Bog had ever felt any fondness for-  

He rushes to the Throne Room, just to make sure,  _and gods damn it all,_  the skylight is gone, his old Castle still stands, it’s the same as it was so long ago – 

Bog curses violently and vividly.  _This is what you get for bloody messing around with magic._

Griselda chooses this moment to walk in. “Goodness,  _something’s_  got ya in a state! Usually ya only get a mouth on ya when the primroses start to bloom, and we’ve got a whole week till that!” She waves a little scroll at him before he can reply. “Speaking of which, got this from the Border. Probably from the Fairy Kingdom.”

Sure enough, Bog sees the golden seal across parchment. He had received his fair share of them before, but now –

_Fairy Kingdom. Fairy Princess. Marianne Marianne Marianne_  –

“Looks like a wedding invitation! Ooooh, and a royal one too!  _That_ should be fun! Nice of them to send that, considering you’re still being such a grump about this whole Love business - ”

_Royal Wedding?_

Bog snatches the invitation from his mother, ignoring her disgruntled grumble, and his eyes take in the flowery script with dawning horror.

_“The Royal Family of the Fairy Kingdom wishes to invite the King of the Dark Forest to attended and celebrate the union between Crown Princess Marianne and Sir Roland –“_

**_“I almost married someone who didn’t love me.”_ **

Bog’s heart goes numb.  _No._

No no no, this can’t happen, she  _can’t_  marry that cur,  _she **can’t**_ , they have –

_They have a future, he was so sure they had a future together, even with all his worries, all his doubts –_

All his doubts, all his impetuous ways…they’ve damned him again, led him to  _this_.

For a moment, Bog is tempted to crumble like his Castle, surrender to misery.

But the moment is brief. No matter what time he is in,  _he is a King_ , the King of the Dark Forest, and he  _will_  fight for her.

_For them._

Griselda watches him, a frown puckering her brow. “Boggy? You okay? You’re acting kind of –“

“I’m fine. And I shall reply to this,” Bog says, his claws clenching the invitation even as his heart races. “But first…I need to visit the dungeons.”

He has a plan. But he can’t do this without an ally. Someone who knows magic, and more importantly, someone who knows how to curb his impulsive ways.

* * *

“Ooooh, a visit!” The Sugar Plum trills, smiling radiantly at him. “Come for a gossip, your majesty?  _Do_  excuse the mess, it’s not often that I have comp-”

“I’m prepared to give you your freedom if you aid me without guile or treachery,” Bog says flatly, watching the Sprite in her wee prison.

Plum’s smile drops in shock, and her eyes widen as she takes him in. “…Something is off. You’re…my stars, you positively  _reek_  of magic! Some sort of spell or -”

“You stand to gain your freedom, and I stand to lose the woman I love,” Bog grits out.  _“Now will you help me or not, you daft thing?”_

If the situation weren’t so dire, Bog would have savored the thunderstruck expression on Plum’s face, how her hands dither about. But she steels herself, a businesslike look coming into her eyes.

“Tell me everything, almighty King Not Of This Time,” Plum commands, none of her usual gaiety in her tone, resting her chin upon a tiny fist. “And I will aid you in any way that I can.” She suddenly snorts. “Heaven knows someone needs to make sure you don’t muck this up like you did with the Love Potion.”

* * *

It’s odd, having Plum as an ally, but Bog supposes he could do far worse. Besides, in the matter of magic, there is no better authority to council him.

It’s her council on Love that has him flexing his claws.

“A Fairy…” she murmurs, now free of her cage and floating around him, trapped stars and pinpricks of magic glowing under whatever skin she possesses. “Surprising, but then again, the best kind of Love is.” She studies him and gives a sigh. “And oh my,  _this_  one is something special. Real in every sense. It’s positively  _pouring_  off of you –“

“She’s due to be married in a week’s time. I can’t lose her, Plum.”

She bites her lip, worries it with her teeth. “And the groom isn’t an issue? I would think that you be loathe to have anyone else go through the heartache you’ve experienced –“

“ _He doesn’t love her._  He…he wants her for her crown, she told me when we -” He stops –  _don’t think about that_  – and tries again. “It’s…it’s not real for him.” 

Plum zooms close to him, her eyes uncharacteristically solemn. “But is it real for  _her?”_

Bog looks away at that, clenches his claws even as his heart throbs with pain. He hates to think of Marianne loving that wretch, but – it  _was_  real for her. Her heart wouldn’t have shattered so if it her feelings hadn’t been genuine. “Aye…it is. But he breaks her heart. She didn’t tell me how, but he does. I would spare  _her_  that pain.”  

Plum taps her lip thoughtfully. “You know…you  _could_  wait this out. Let things proceed as they had…or will. She would have her heart broken, but if a delicate touch is used and some patience is exercised on your part, you two  _would_  still happen. From what I can sense, it seems your fates are meant to intertwine.”

But Bog shakes his head. “I can’t. I still…I still remember her, Plum, remember what we had –  _have_. Those memories…it would change everything. I wouldn’t be able to do what I did. It wouldn’t be the same. And…” there is a traitorous crack to his voice, “I  _can’t_  wait for her. All that time, knowing she’s  _there_ , knowing  _everything_ …each moment away from her is…” His breath is shaky when he meets her gaze. “…I  _need_  her, Plum.”

She looks at him, and her shoulders sag. “Love…” she mutters. “What a wonderful pain it is.” She sighs and drifts closer to pat a scaly shoulder. “So be it. Proceed with your plan. At this point, it’s your best bet. But… _please_ , be very,  _very_  careful.” She shakes one long finger in his face.  _“And no more messing around with magic!”_

He nods, and bows, his arm extending to the door. “Your freedom awaits you.”

And with that, her mad glee is back and she zooms out the entrance, shrilling with laughter. Bog sighs, and goes to inform Stuff and Thang that they’ll be taking a most unusual visit.

“Bog King?”

He turns back, surprised to see her hovering by a stump, a faint glimmer of blue iridescence. “Aye?”

“If there’s any more problems, send word. And…” Her voice gets surprisingly gentle. “…Have hope. Love finds a way.”

* * *

He’s been to the Fairy Palace before. But that was with Marianne as his guide, and he’s always found the sheer  _shine_ of it thoroughly off-putting.

He clutches the invitation in his claws, ignores how Stuff and Thang haven’t stopped their bewildered whispering since he instructed them to come with him to the Fields. He could come by himself, but if he wants this to be official –

The guards had first drawn their swords when they saw him, but thankfully the sight of the invitation put an end to that, and he was quickly shown to one of the Throne Room. And now he waits, pacing and bearing the mutters of his subordinates with gritted fangs, the chance of seeing her the only thing stopping him from lashing out.  _Let this work, let this work, let this work –_

Thank gods, when the Fairy King enters, he is not alone. Dawn is there, watching him with wide, frightened blue eyes –  _and that pains him, Dawn had never looked at him with fear before_ – and –

_Her._  Marianne,  _his Marianne_ , her light shining as fierce and bright as ever, Marianne with her redwood dark hair and her amber eyes and the violet shimmer of her wings –

Marianne, on the arm of that golden dolt, looking at Bog as she would a stranger, shock and trepidation in her eyes.

_Not his Marianne. Not now._

_Not yet._

She doesn’t have the disgust that the wastrel has in his expression, but how she presses close to the man who wronged her so, who doesn’t  _deserve_ her – 

Bog breathes, slow and calm, heeding Plum’s advice.  _Be very, very careful_.

 “I’ve come to reply to your invitation, and to offer my wedding gift.” He inclines his head to the couple, only just holding back his sneer as he looks at Roland. The Bog King does not have a reason to hate this man.  _That they know of._  “I wish to extend an official offer of diplomacy between the realms.”

There are gasps from all four fairies at that, but Marianne’s is the only one that has an air of delight to it. She steps forward, freeing herself from Roland’s cold metal grasp, her eyes wide with excitement.  _“Are you serious –“_

“How on earth did  _you_  get an invitation?” Roland cuts through, his handsome features twisted in disgusted disbelief.

Marianne shoots him a look of reproach, and the Fairy King flushes. “I…it was  _my_  doing, I thought it would make Marianne happy to know that I had made such an offer to the Forest…“ Bog can easily hear the words left unsaid.  _Whether or not the King would reply was a different thing entirely –_

“I had thought giving my reply in person would convince you of my sincerity,” Bog says with easy coolness, and the Fairy King looks rather mollified at that.

No matter. Bog watches Marianne, lets himself be weak and drinks her in as she turns to her father to grasp his hands. “It  _does_  make me happy,” she says, her voice warm, and gods,  _this_  is what she was like before her heartbreak? So full of joy, so full of light, so sincere and open –

_All of that lost because that bastard hurt her, shattered her so -_

She looks at Roland and touches his cheek, and Bog has to bite down on his own. “We’d be foolish to ignore such a gift. This will be wonderful for the Kingdom.  _Our_  Kingdom, Roland.”

She gazes up at him with such adoration, and Bog can’t look, it hurts too much,  _he can’t_  –

She turns to Bog, and her smile is the most soothing balm against the sting of that sight. “I gladly accept such an offer. Thank you for such a wonderful gift, your majesty.”

“We can start our work together as soon as you’d like,” Bog says before the King or Roland can end the meeting there. He must be quick, everything depends on this, on spending time with her. “If it isn’t too much of a –“

“We have a wedding to plan!” Roland’s voice is petulant.

Bog would have snarled at him if not for the quelling look Marianne sends her intended. “The Kingdom comes first, Roland. The wedding will still take place as planned.” She smiles as Bog, warm and sincere. “I’m glad that we can count you amongst the guests. The first Fairy wedding for the King of the Dark Forest to attend…”

Bog’s claws pierce his hide as he clenches his fists, a new ache rippling through his heart as he bows to them. “Undoubtedly, it will be an adventure.”

_Have patience. Have hope. Love finds a way, even one as strange as ours._

* * *

The week passes on. The wedding draws nearer and nearer. But he and Marianne meet more and more, talk and discuss and plan. Dawn quickly loses her fear of him in favor of bubbly curiosity, and the Fairy King, while not warm, treats him with all the decorum one King can give to another –

Roland still shudders when faced with him, but in all fairness, Bog is just barely holding himself back from slicing that golden face to shreds, so at least they’re matched in their disgust.

But it is Marianne whom matters the most.

Marianne, who is now overflowing with warmth and openness and romance, none of her snark and grit and flinty fire. Marianne, who readily tries to control her glorious differentness around her family, around her subjects. Marianne, who looks at Roland and only sees her bright betrothed.

Marianne, who he knows has always wanted to go into his realm to talk with him, to make it so that at long last, none of her subjects need fear his Forest. Marianne, who has always longed to have adventures.

That has not changed.

Neither has her curiosity.

“Why did you ban Love in the Dark Forest?”

He arches a brow at her, and while her fingers nervously tuck some hair behind her ear, she meets his gaze unafraid, still bold when faced with getting what she wants. “I mean…everyone says that you’ve set the Sugar Plum Fairy free, which is wonderful. But…I mean, before that…why not just the Potion? Why ban Love altogether?”

“I had my reasons,” he replies, knowing she will want more.  _Keep talking to me, keep staying in my company…_

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, and what  _were_ they?”

He smiles at such careless informality, the familiarity of it. She doesn’t act this way in front of Roland, he’s pleased to see. Although that’s because she’s too busy swooning or sighing over the maggot.

But that isn’t the  _real_  Marianne. And yes, she’s different, so very different from the Fairy he fell for, but Marianne is Marianne, and he knows her and he loves her.

And…in time, perhaps she will love him again.  _As long as she doesn’t marry –_

She’s looking at him expectantly, and Bog tries to think of what to say. “I…I suppose I wanted to spare others the pain that only Love can inflict. An impulsive judgment on my part. But…not all of us can be lucky with Love.” The next words are as bitter as unripe berries as they roll over his tongue, but he still gets them out. “Not like you and your betrothed.”

He expects her to blush or giggle, but Marianne does what she always does and surprises him, studying his face, her gaze thoughtful and shrewd. “You don’t care for Roland, do you?”

_Damn._  He had thought he had been at least the littlest bit successful at masking his true feelings. But then, Marianne  _had_ always been able to peel back his scales and walls as easily as a molt. “He doesn’t seem to care for me either.”

Marianne looks down with a soft wince. “Roland…we’ve had disagreements when it comes to the Dark Forest – “

“Not a promising sign in a future King,” Bog says dryly. “You’re to rule as one. A King and a Queen should be equals in all things.”  _Like Love, and he doesn’t love you Marianne, you told me so –_

But then Marianne gives a little sigh that almost seems sad. “Well, honestly…sometimes people just  _can’t_  be equals.” Her eyes cast down, and her cheeks glow. “I would have  _never_  thought someone as good looking as Roland would want someone like  _me_.” Her smile is an oddly rueful thing. “So, y’know,  _I’m_  lucky to marry  _him_ –“

_“He’s the one who’s lucky,”_  Bog says, and Marianne blinks at the fierce, almost raw conviction in his voice. “To have  _your_  love –“

_Hells, he needs to stop, needs to keep his mouth shut, but gods, what he would give to have her look at him with love again_  –

Marianne is watching him with wide eyes, but – there’s a strange look to them, a certain glint that brings him back to that moment in the Castle’s dining room, confessing their heartaches, spilling their souls –

_A moment that hasn’t happened yet, perhaps now will never happen._

Bog looks down, his berating silent and sound. He can’t dwell on that. “You…you love him.” And  _gods_ , that hurts to say. “You say you’re lucky.” His eyes are fierce when he looks at her, and Bog hopes that will disguise his yearning. “Would he say the same?”

She would be well within her rights to shut him down coldly, stalk off in offended fury. Instead, her beautiful eyes look down, uncertainty dimming and darkening their brilliance, and silence reigns.

**_“Inside, I knew, he didn’t want me to be…”_ **

**_“You?”_ **

**_“Yeah…”_ **

Bog almost wishes her reaction was the former. No one should be so uncertain of Love.  _Please, Tough Girl, save yourself from him._

* * *

There’s talk now, a soft thrum around the Fairy Palace, murmurs of surprise that even as her wedding approaches, the Crown Princess is seeking out the Bog King’s company, willingly, even eagerly –

“Marianne’s always been an odd one –“

“Still, you would think that as the bride to be –“

“-and with  _him_ , of all creatures!”

“I swear, if he wasn’t a Goblin, if I was Roland I’d be worried…”

Bog knows better to pay them mind. People will talk, and despite her moment of doubt that he was privy to, Marianne remains utterly beguiled by Roland. The wedding is only two days away, and if Bog feels any hope at all now, it’s akin to a dagger in his chest.

Naturally, Roland is there to give it a final twist.

“Marianne certainly…ah,  _enjoys_  your company,” he drawls to Bog in a rare moment alone, Marianne not too far away, happily talking with Dawn. “For the brief time she has had it.” That golden, infuriating grin does not cease, but the vivid green of his eyes brings to mind poisonous plants. “My future Queen…well, she has her little quirks.”

“I admire that,” Bog says with cool honesty.

Roland chuckles as he looks at Bog, deeply amused. “I’m sure you do. Don’t think I haven’t seen how you look at her. I wouldn’t have let those little meetings continue if there was any  _real_ chance of something… _blooming_  between the two of you. But make no mistake, Marianne is  _mine_.” He chuckles again, the sound rich and melodious. “You sure picked a plum time, though, what with the wedding. What  _were_ you thinking, a beast like you falling for a beauty like Marianne?” His teeth gleam like his armor, bright and cold.

Bog’s fury is just as cold, but now he has a retort for that insult that he couldn’t give the scum before. “I was thinking she deserves a  _real_  King.”

Roland’s smile drops at that. “Your invitation to the wedding can always be revoked, Bog King.”

“Never fear,” Bog says, the dagger sinking the last inch through his now twice-shattered heart. “I wasn’t going to attend it anyway.”

A King accepts when a battle is lost.

* * *

He stays in his still-standing Castle the day of it. Mother can go as a representative, but… _he can’t_. There’s only so much agony he can bear witness to.

Plum was wrong. She hadn’t lied to him about the Potion, but she’s lied to him now.  _Love finds a way._  

Not for him, not for a beast like him, there’s no hope to be had and he has once again brought misery upon himself with his damned impetuousness –

-  _if a delicate touch is used and some patience is exercised on your part, you two would still happen_  –

_No._  No more comforting lies, no more painful blades of hope in his heart. He has to face this. He tried to look into the future to see their lives together, and now he is stuck in the past, barred from her forever.

He escapes to the Border, desperate for any distraction. His goblins are there, as they are each Spring, chopping down and savaging the primroses as decreed. Bog joins in the destruction, tears them apart with his claws so violently that his subjects are soon backing away, eyes wide.

To hells with them. There’s a perverse pleasure to be had in such venting his heartbreak like this –

And then a Fairy falls into the Forest.

Gowned in white, twigs in her hair, amber eyes wide with panicked realization –

Bog’s heart seizes in shock.  _It had been **her?**_

His goblins circle around her, growl and snatch –

**_“Let her go.”_**  Bog’s snarl is a low rasp that promises far worse than murder to those who would go against their King.

They retreat hastily, and Bog strides forward, holding out his hand before he even questions the wisdom of it, and the contrast to his earlier tone and the gentleness in his voice now is almost surreal. “Are you hurt?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes, her pulse fluttering like her wings, and places her hand in his, softly twining her gloved fingers with his claws. “I’m fine…just…” she laughs, a quick exhale that’s still tinged with nerves. “Just didn’t mean to fall through. I guess my head was in the clouds, I don’t think I’ve  _ever_  been this happy –“

Bog immediately knows he has to let go of her hand,  _has to_ , or else there is a very strong chance indeed that he would grasp her to him in a desperate snare, refuse to let her return, refuse to let her condemn herself –

He looks down at their hands, his claws and her long fingers, the purity of her gloves marred and stained with dirt. The last time he will ever hold her hand, and he can’t even savor the feel of her skin…

His voice is low and thick. “I…that’s good. It’s…good that you’re happy.”  _Oh, Tough Girl, I’m so sorry._

She looks up at him, her eyes wide and concerned. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine.”  _Head, shoulders, all good. Heart breaking again, but there you are._ “You best leave the Forest. Your betrothed wouldn’t be happy to know you were here.”

Marianne still stays, watching him. “Bog – I mean, Bog King…”

His heart seizes. “Yes?”

Her eyes look up into his, their hazel lustrous and strangely lost, and she suddenly looks down, her cheeks crimson. “Um…I’ll…I’ll see you at the wedding, right?”

Bog closes his eyes.  _Fool. Rushing into hope and heartbreak all over again at the slightest sign._ “My mother is most eager to witness it.” It’s not a lie, and it will hopefully suffice as an answer.

Marianne nods, so beautiful in her mussed-up elegance, her messy splendor. “I…I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. All this week.” She looks down, her cheeks flushing again. “Best present ever.”

He has to get away, he  _has_  to, his heart can’t take this. “Right. You best be off.”

She nods again, and spreads her wings, taking so easily to the air, sunlight spangling across countless silken scales, sending a violet glow across him before he is left to darkness –

_“MARIANNE!”_

She turns back quickly, her eyes oddly eager. “Yes?”

He flounders, not sure what to say. He can’t – he  _can’t_  change what will happen – but he  _needs_  her to know, someway, somehow –

He needs to tell her the truth.

He looks up at her, framed by sunlight, soon to be lost to him forever. “You…you deserve real love.”

Her shoulders slump just the tiniest bit. “ _Oh._ Okay.” She turns to go, but then looks over her shoulder at him, her eyes so warm, so kind. “So do you, you know.”

He waits till she’s clear of the Forest before he slumps against a stump, closing his eyes as something hot and wet trails down one sharp cheek.  _I thought I did._

* * *

Surely the wedding will be well under way now, perhaps even done.

Bog still stays on his stump, numbly watching the shadows lengthen. He was such a fool…

_Even with all his worries, all his doubts… he was so sure they had a future together…_

Now stuck in the past, and she’s gone forever…

Bog sighs, stands up from his stump, wearily settling his wings. Misery or not…his land cannot lose its King. He will dedicate himself to that, and hopefully resign himself to an existence rather than a life, both without her –

He takes a step into the shadows and gloom -

There’s no shattering of glass like the last time, but she breaks through the canopy of leaves just as surely, crashing into him –

Bog is only just able to catch himself against the stump, grasping her to him so she won’t fall as well, shock and concern making him reel.  _“Marianne?!”_

She looks up at him, and she’s crying,  _and Marianne doesn’t cry_ , not like this, doesn’t shake in his arms, her chest heaving in ragged, gulping sobs, quaking with pain –

_She’s in such agony, like her heart is -_

He sets he down and his claws brush over her hair, snagging the flowery circlet there, clumsy in his haste to comfort her.  _“What happened?”_

She takes a shuddery breath. “I saw him – and he - he was  _kissing_  her like she meant  _everything_  to him, like he’s kissed  _me_ , and - ” Marianne’s voice cracks. “He – he was  _using_  me, this whole time, just to get his  _stupid army_  – he – it – “

She breaks down again, a sob tearing through her.  _“I was such a fool, I was so happy just to rush in –“_

_Another woman. It had been another woman. The golden idiot had sought out another’s embrace when he had **her.**_

If he wasn’t so preoccupied, Bog would have torn across the sky to tear that grinning bastard limb from limb –

But as it were…

He desperately wants to hold her, but she might not welcome his embrace. But he still gently strokes his hands through her hair, his claws just barely skimming her skin.  _“Ah’m sae sorry.”_

Marianne then closes the distance between them, collapsing into his arms, shaking with desperately repressed sobs.  _“It wasn’t – it was never –“_

Bog closes his eyes at the feel of her in his arms. No matter how much he has longed for it, it shouldn’t come at such a price. He guides his hands down her neck, rubbing soft, comforting circles between her wings.  _“He’s th’ fool, not ye.”_

 

Marianne pulls back to look up at him, and her eyes are wet and wide, the sheen of the hazel even more brilliant.  _“It wasn’t real,”_  she whispers.  _“He never loved me. It wasn’t real love.”_

His claw strokes down the fine line of her cheek, and gods, he wishes he could take some of her pain into him.  _“Ye deserve only that.”_

She gazes into his eyes, his words apparently stopping any further of hers, before she looks down, her dark lashes sticking to her cheeks. “I…I saw him,  _them,_  and I just…I had to get away. And I was going to go back home, but…I thought of this. You. Catching me here as I fell –“

He hadn’t caught her, he had only given her his hand, but – “You… _sought_ me?”

She looks up at that, misery and apprehension in her eyes. “I can leave –“

_Please don’t._  “No,” he says, soothing her as she wilts back into his arms, pliant with the exhaustion only grief can give. “You stay here as long as you like.”  _Stay with me._     

Her shudders become trembles, and he doesn’t know how long he holds her, only that it’s enough, it’s enough to be the one she sought comfort from, the one she trusts to bear witness to her grief. He will give whatever she asks of him, he will be whatever she needs him to be, as long as his arms can twine about her for whatever amount of time he can have.  _Gods, I’ve missed you, love._   

But then Marianne pulls away, her eyes looking up at him, and once again there’s that strangely lost look in their gorgeous hazel depths, her eyes glowing like the amber of his Forest. “Why are you being so kind to me?” she whispers, soft and thready and so heartbreakingly bewildered.

He looks at her, his beautiful, broken Tough Girl, and once again tells her the truth. “I know all about getting your heart broken.”

She stares at him, and then her hands are skating up his arms, up the scales of his shoulders, clasping at his neck to pull him down–

Her lips don’t carry the stain of berries he’s used to, but the petal-soft feel of them -  _as soft as he remembers_  – makes them just as sweet, and it triggers something in Bog. The flint of his heart ignites and causes a brushfire to tear through him, and he can’t stop himself from sinking into her, opening her mouth under his to taste her, his hunger and longing and yearning so long denied –

He groans into the kiss, gripping her tight, even as he knows he  _should_  pull back, pull away, tame his need for her, he’ll scare her –

Marianne bites into the kiss, her moan as sweet as any song, hooking nails into the segments of his scales as she pulls him closer. Her kiss is fierce and deep and she’s always been a force of nature, destruction and desire given form and wrapped in petals and tenderness, she’s all he could ever want and all he thought he had lost –

The light of her land seems to pour through the leaves she rent apart, making shadow and sun spin around them –

Or maybe it’s her kiss that’s making him breathless, robbing him of thought, she always could make him lose himself in her –

Shadow and sun blur into blackness –

* * *

Her lips are soft and sweet on his brow, and her eyes golden and calm, soft with tender relief and fathomless with happiness. “Welcome back.”

He’s not in his bed, he’s in that hollow log that Mother staked a claim on, verdant and soft with moss, he had conducted the spell here –

He sits up and immediately groans, his head damn near about to  _split_.

“Plum said that might happen,” Marianne observes, sidling even closer to him. “Magical inertia. It takes a lot to come back from the past.” Her hands are soft as she strokes his brow, her voice softer still. “She said a headache was the best we could hope for when you got back.” Her hands come back to her lap, twist her tunic with white knuckles. “ _If_ you got back. There was always a chance - ”

He looks at her, and his sheer relief at seeing her again,  _his_  Marianne, smoky gaze and stained lips and love in her amber eyes, is at war with fierce, raw regret. Gods, what a  _fool_  he was.  _“Marianne, Ah’m sae sorry –“_

“I was totally going to give you hell for trying that spell,” she says as she lies down next to him on the moss, her hands stroking over his chest, seemingly unable to stay away from him. Her eyes are soft and knowing as she looks at him. “But I know you’ve already been through that and more. Plum filled us in.”

Bog recoils, stunned.  _“She…she could -?”_

“It’s the magic in her. She says it can’t be confined to past or present, it simply  _is_. It was…it’s like a lure thrown into a pond. Distorted, but still there. She got glimpses.” Marianne looks down, her eyes watching her fingers twine with his. “So did I. Sometimes.” She looks up at him, and her eyes are wet. “You…you offered diplomacy. You watched me moon over Roland.  _God, you freaking tolerated **Roland**_ –“

“Not really –“

_“Why?”_  Marianne looks so bewildered, so devastated.  _“Why put yourself through all that pain?”_

It’s a fair question. He could have kidnapped her, perhaps, explained everything to her then –

**_“I wouldn’t be able to do what I did.”_ **

Bog sighs. Those actions, those days…they’re behind him. He wants…

He looks at her, her eyes shining with tears and that fierce light that’s all hers. “That wretch tried to trap your heart with the Potion. If I’m ever to be worthy of you…I wanted to win it honestly. I want…”

“…Our love to be real.” Marianne clenches her hands around his, and the tears that drip onto their laced fingers are no longer born of pain.  _“You deserve only that.”_

Bog shakes his head, not caring about how it still throbs, not caring about anything except Marianne,  _his Tough Girl_ , so perfectly framed by light and shadow, belonging to both, and pulls her close. What pain the past holds is irrelevant, what concerns that may blossom in the future meaningless. As long as it’s  _theirs_ , he won’t ask for anything more.

“ _We_  deserve only that,” he says, his murmur rough against her lips, and Marianne captures his words with that dearly beloved hunger, as timeless as their love.


End file.
